Chapter 25: The Temple Between Worlds
Philip stirred awake, disoriented.
Darkness stretched endlessly around him, yet it wasn't the emptiness of night.
Above and below, the sky was ink-black, littered with glimmering stars and what seemed like black moons.
The stars weren't cold, distant points of light. They felt alive—tangible, almost close enough to touch.
Floating silently nearby were pieces of his old world:
The battered factory he had trained in for months.
His dusty, beat-up car, spinning slowly in the weightless void.
Philip blinked, confused, and tried to move.
There was no floor, no ground—yet somehow, he wasn't falling. He just... floated.
Then he heard them.
Voices.
Soft at first, a collection of whispers, like the wind rustling through an ancient forest.
"I feel the Emperor's aura… but he's weak," murmured another, older voice, heavy with sadness.
"Has the Emperor returned?" asked another , filled with cautious hope.
More voices followed, speaking over one another, their words blending into an incomprehensible roar.
They weren't speaking directly to Philip—but around him, about him.
He covered his ears instinctively, but the voices weren't coming from outside.
They were in his mind, pressing against his thoughts, overwhelming him.
It took time—minutes, maybe hours; he couldn't tell in this place—before he could focus.
Slowly, painfully, he learned to tune out the noise, listening for just one voice at a time.
They were still speaking.
"Another Challenger"
"The Emperor once walked these halls before he learned to command space and time himself."
Philip forced himself upright, pushing through the floating currents of unseen forces.
He drifted awkwardly at first, flailing until he got the hang of it.
With careful, tentative movements, he floated toward the factory.
Landing lightly at the factory's edge, gravity returned faintly enough to stand.
Inside, everything was just as he remembered: crude gym equipment, old weights, rusted metal racks.
It was as if the whole place had been plucked from Earth and placed here.
He floated toward his car next, tugging the door open with some difficulty.
He rummaged around until he found his phone, but the screen showed NO SERVICE.
Figures.
The murmuring voices around him continued, more focused now.
He strained to hear them better.
"Could he be the Emperor's candidate?" whispered a younger-sounding voice.
"Impossible," snapped another, gruffer voice. "The Emperor is still alive—somewhere. He would not need a candidate."
"Yet… we have not felt the Emperor's presence for a long, long time," said a third, voice heavy with sorrow.
Philip looked around, heart hammering.
He wasn't alone.
The Temple itself—or whatever lived inside it—was aware of him.
A faint light blinked far away, like a star dying and being born again.
As he focused, Philip saw something he hadn't noticed before:
A door, impossibly far yet visible in the endless black, standing alone in the void.
The voices spoke in unison now:
"There.
The Door.
The Trial Awaits."
Philip swallowed hard.
He had no idea what he was walking toward.
But standing still wasn't an option anymore.
Carefully, he pushed himself off the ground, gliding through the starlit darkness toward the door.